Without
the thrill of the chase, life’s been pretty dull. Penelope gardens, drives her
gorgeous husband up the wall, and watches as her old world slowly slips away.
But what’s that old saying? When one thief closes the door…a copycat jimmies
open a window.

And
now all fingers at the FBI are pointed at her.

Set up
to take the fall for thefts worth millions, Penelope have no choice but to strap
on her heels and help her FBI agent husband track the thief. Grant might not
think he needs a partner, but this is one case only a true professional can
solve. Besides, she’s got to
know who’s been taking her bad name in vain.

“I know she
operates the same way my team and I used to,” I say, meeting his gaze dead-on.
He might have me at a disadvantage, but I’m not one to give in easily. “She
only chooses wealthy targets, people who can afford to lose a few million
without feeling the pinch. She gets in and out of the crime scene undetected—
most likely through an open window or air vent. She only takes one item of
jewelry at a time, and it’s a show piece, something big and worth the risk.”

Grant nods at
each fact, adding to my feeling of sinking into quicksand.

“I also know
that you think I’m her.” There. It’s out now. “And that you gave me these
stupid shoes to try and trap me into confessing.”

His response is
a groan, which isn’t helpful. Emotional outpourings like this aren’t exactly
easy. “You accused me of not being honest with you, but that goes both ways,” I
say. “I thought we were on the same team now. No more tricks, no more lies.
Remember?”

His groan
deepens. “I remember. I only wish you had, too.”

I glance up,
surprised. He still looks as if he might enjoy hoisting me over his shoulder
and hauling me out of the office caveman-style, but the lines around his eyes
are the good kind. The crinkly kind.

“What are you
talking about?” I ask.

“We are on the same team, Pen. Of course I
don’t think you’re the Peep-Toe Prowler.”

I blink. “You
don’t?”

“Okay, I will
admit there were a few hours when it seemed like a possibility. And yes, I did
have your friends tailed for a week to make sure. But even if I thought you
were behind all this, I wouldn’t have started investigating you again.”

“You wouldn’t?”

He lifts his
hand to cup my cheek, a tender gesture that has always managed to break my
defenses. This time is no exception. “I would have just asked you, Penelope
Blue.”

“But…” My head
swirls from the combination of his touch and the relief of hearing that rhyme
back on his lips. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’ve been treating me like a
suspect for months.”

“What are you
talking about? I’ve been treating you the same as I always have. I mean, I’ve
been working a lot of overtime, yes, but that’s not anything new.”

I stare at him,
incredulous. Is he seriously going to pretend this is all in my head?

“Besides,
everything else seems to be in working order.” His voice drops to a sexy rumble
over that everything else. “Just the
other night, we did that thing…”

I know the thing
he’s referring to, and I’m not about to let him elaborate. We are, after all,
in a professional setting.

“Exactly,” I
say.

“Exactly what?”

“You always get
demanding and sexy when you think I’m stealing things. It’s how you assert your
dominance.”

An enticing
gleam sparks in his eye, and I can tell he wants to assert his dominance here,
now, with his full dedication. Despite the thrill of desire that works through
me at the thought of us tossing his desktop knickknacks to the floor and
enjoying a full reconciliation, I’m determined to hold my ground.

“Sex has never
been the issue, and you know it,” I say sternly. The soft upturn of his lips
indicates his agreement. Whatever else, we’ve always been great at that. “But
you’ve been a walking, talking stranger for the past two months. You refuse to
let me come to the office or even call in to say hello. The only time I see you
is when you come home to sleep and shower and give me shoes…”

I trail off and
let the footwear say the rest. Unfortunately, they aren’t adept at
communication, because he touches one with a puzzled furrow in his brow.

“What’s wrong
with them? You look sexy as hell when you have them on. I distinctly remember
you wearing them when we did that thing—”

“Grant, if you
so much as mention that thing one more time, we will never do it again.”

“Never?”

“Not in a
million years.”

“A million years
is an awfully long time.” He caresses the shoe, his fingers trailing over the
curves of the red patent leather in obscene and titillating ways. “And you
seemed to enjoy yourself at the time. I know I did.”